


Differential

by apolesen



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alien Biology, Illness, M/M, Second five-year mission, Sickfic, not as dramatic and doomy as it seems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 13:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11464809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolesen/pseuds/apolesen
Summary: Something is clearly wrong with Spock. The question is just what, and how bad it is.





	Differential

**Author's Note:**

> I can't help thinking that Spock would be a pain to diagnose, not just because he is likely the worst patient in the quadrant, but because you can never be sure what rules he plays by, being a hybrid. I decided to write this piece to do something with those thoughts.

There was seldom a reason for the captain of a vessel to visit the laboratories aboard. Kirk did not know when he had last been in one – usually any interesting finds were brought to him. When he stepped into the astrophysics lab, he could not help but look around. He did not understand half of the machines in there, but it was an impressive array. In the midst of the lab sat Spock, pouring over some notes. He appeared not to have noticed the captain’s entrance. 

‘Spock?’ 

He looked up and put down his stylus. 

‘Captain. Can I be of service somehow?’ 

Kirk smiled at him, amused. 

‘Just by your company. I missed you at lunch.’ 

Spock turned to the computer console and reset some commands. 

‘I am endeavouring to analyse the data on the nebulas we charted last week.’ 

‘It can wait,’ Kirk said. ‘You’ve been at it all day. You must be hungry.’ 

‘Not really.’ 

Something about the way Spock spoke made Kirk feel uneasy. There was a forced casualness about it, as if in an attempt to deflect attention. He came closer and put his hand on Spock’s shoulder. 

‘Are you feeling alright?’ he asked, rubbing his shoulder. The muscles under his grip were tight. 

‘I am perfectly fine,’ Spock said, still turned away, his attention on the computer. Kirk let his hand fall. He felt a stab of annoyance at his tendency to dodge questions, even after all these years together. More acutely, he felt his concern turn into worry. This close, under the sharp lights of the lab, Spock’s skin looked flushed and clammy. 

‘Spock, talk to me,’ he said. ‘I can see that something’s bothering you.’ 

His resistance lasted a moment longer. Then he sighed and turned to face him. 

‘It is not important,’ Spock said. ‘I simply have no appetite.’ 

Kirk frowned. 

‘That’s not nothing,’ he said. ‘Have you eaten at all today?’ 

‘I tried to have some soup,’ Spock confessed. ‘I could not stomach it.’ He saw the concern in Kirk’s eyes. ‘Do not let it concern you. It is likely no more than some small digestive complaint.’ 

‘Where would you have picked up a bug?’ Kirk asked. ‘We haven’t been off the ship for two weeks. If there was something going around, others would be ill.’ 

‘Perhaps it is something I am more susceptible to, as a Vulcan,’ Spock said. ‘Or perhaps it is simply a symptom of stress.’ 

Kirk reached out and swept Spock’s fringe up, touching his forehead. He pulled away, startled. 

‘You’re warm.’ 

‘You know full well that my body temperature is naturally higher than yours.’ 

‘And you know I didn’t mean that,’ Kirk said. ‘I think you’re running a temperature.’ He bit his lip, hesitating to say what was on his mind. ‘Spock, do you think this might be hormonal?’ 

Spock stiffened. When he answered, he spoke under his breath, as if there were people around them who might overhear. 

‘I am three years into my cycle. _That_ will not happen in another four years.’ 

‘Last time, you were almost a year early. Your hormones don’t act like ordinary Vulcan ones.’ 

Spock’s face had gone stony. 

‘Jim, I am certain, this is not the _pon farr_.’ 

Kirk sighed, backing off. 

‘Alright. But you should go to sickbay and get looked at.’ 

Spock turned back to the computer. 

‘Is that an order, Captain?’ 

‘No,’ Kirk said, truly annoyed now. ‘Just your husband worrying about you.’ He indulged his sudden bad mood and left. By the time he was out of the door, he already felt bad.

***

The feeling appeared to be mutual. After they got into bed that evening, Spock nuzzled his neck and planted a kiss on his shoulder.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s alright,’ Kirk said. ‘I’m sorry too.’ 

‘I do not like to see you in distress.’ 

‘I don’t like you being ill,’ Kirk said. ‘You didn’t go see Bones, did you?’ 

‘No,’ Spock confessed. He let go of him slowly, as if to show it was not because he was offended. When he had disentangled himself, he turned to lie on his back. Kirk rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows. Spock’s face was tense with concentration. 

‘How are you feeling now?’ Kirk asked. ‘Any better?’ 

Spock shook his head minutely. 

‘I have a stomach ache.’ 

Kirk made a compassionate sound. 

‘Perhaps you do have a bug,’ he said. He lay down, putting his head against his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about this.’ 

‘I will get through it,’ Spock said dryly. ‘I hope.’

Kirk snorted with laughter. 

‘You’d better.’ He moved closer, put his arm around his bedmate and soon they fell asleep.

***

Kirk woke before the alarm, as he often did, but not because of habit. He was alone in the bed. He sat up and looked around, wondering where Spock had gone. Then he heard sounds from the bathroom – the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

He got out of bed and crossed to the bathroom door. Gently, he knocked on it. 

‘Spock?’ 

There was no answer for several seconds, then the same sound again. It was enough to make Kirk feel queasy. 

‘Are you alright in there?’ he called through the door. His hand was already on the handle. ‘Can I come in?’ 

There was a moment for silence. 

‘Enter,’ said a strangled voice. Kirk pushed down the handle and stepped in. 

Spock was sitting on the floor, back against the bulkhead. He drew quick, shallow breaths, winded from the time he had not been able to breathe. His hair was wet with sweat, and his skin had a pasty, greyish quality to it. Kirk sighed with compassion and came inside. He flushed the toilet, poured a glass of water and wet a towel. Then he sat down on the floor beside Spock. 

‘Here,’ he said, handing him the glass. As he drank, he saw how his hand shook. When he lowered the glass, Kirk took it from him and started wiping his face with the cloth instead. Spock closed his eyes with a sigh. ‘Poor you.’ He brushed Spock’s damp hair back. ‘How are you feeling?’ 

Spock was silent for what seemed like a very long time. First, Kirk just thought he was gathering his thoughts, but then it stretched beyond that. 

‘Spock?’ 

He swallowed and exhaled. 

‘I have a severe pain in the right side of my abdomen, in the vicinity of my heart.’ 

It felt like he had been dropped in a pool of freezing water. Then the initial shock passed. 

‘I’m calling for help.’ 

He was about to get up, when Spock grabbed him by the wrist. 

‘Jim…’ 

Kirk met his gaze. He was not sure if he had ever seen that frightened look in Spock’s eyes. 

‘I’ll be just outside the door,’ he said, covering Spock’s hand with his own. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ 

Slowly, Spock released him. Kirk felt the same pang of reluctance, even for leaving him for a moment, but the Command part of his brain kicked in. Wasting no time, he got up and went to the intercom on the wall. 

‘Medical team to the captain’s quarters, on the double.’ 

There was a moment’s silence before the reply came through. 

‘Aye, sir. On our way.’ 

‘Kirk out.’ 

He broke the link and went back into the bathroom. 

‘They’ll be here soon,’ he said, sitting down beside Spock. He responded with only a minute nod. Kirk put his arm around his shoulders, and Spock leaned his head against his chest. They sat like that as they heard the sound of the medical team thundering towards them.

***

Sickbay was almost empty, with no recent missions to go wrong. As soon as he entered, McCoy started giving the nurses instructions. One of them took the initiative to pull Kirk aside while they moved Spock from the gurney to the biobed. She pushed a cup of coffee into his hands. He was not sure later if he actually thanked her. Standing in the middle of the sickbay, still in his pyjamas, watching his husband surrounded by medical personnel, he felt out of control in a way he never did.

The orderlies moved aside, taking the gurney with them. McCoy was inspecting the read-outs, while feeling his patient’s pulse. His face was stony, not giving anything away. Kirk put aside the cup of coffee and crossed to the biobed. 

‘What’s wrong with him, Bones?’ 

‘I don’t know yet,’ he said, letting go of Spock’s wrist. ‘Nurse, cardiac scanner.’ He calibrated the device and, pulling up Spock’s vest, put it directly against his skin. He inhaled sharply at the contact. ‘Does that hurt? Spock nodded. ‘Where is it worst?’ 

‘Lower down, towards the hip.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

Kirk took his hand. Spock squeezed his hand back. He was looking up into the ceiling, as if trying to get away from the situation. When he spoke, Kirk was not sure if it was meant for him or McCoy. His voice sounded dispassionate, as if he was stating a fact about some planetary survey.

‘There is a history of heart disease in my family.’ 

McCoy glanced up. 

‘True.’ 

‘Doctor, am I having a heart attack?’ 

The doctor removed the scanner from his abdomen. It took an excruciatingly long time for him to answer. 

‘It doesn’t seem that way,’ he said. ‘The scan is coming up clear.’ He looked back at the biobed readouts. ‘The placement of the pain, nausea, vomiting, lack of appetite - all of those things would be consistent with a heart issue. But a fever?’ He shook his head. ‘Besides, even with your family history, you’d be awfully young for this to present,’ he said and put on a pair of gloves, a necessary barrier when examining touch-telepaths. ‘Just try to relax, Spock.’ He started palpating his abdomen. Kirk could see how Spock’s jaw tensed. His free hand, which rested on his chest, curled into a fist. The look of pain on his face as McCoy’s hand moved right was unmistakable. ‘Roll onto your side, would you?’ 

Kirk let go of his hand as he turned to his side. When McCoy felt his abdomen again, Spock gasped. 

‘Does this hurt worse than before?’ 

‘Yes.’ His voice sounded choked. Kirk saw how the doctor frowned. 

‘You can roll back.’ As his patient lay down on his back again, McCoy seemed to think. 

‘When did this pain start?’ They had been in such a rush to get the patient to sickbay, he had not even asked that basic question. 

‘Yesterday morning,’ Spock said. ‘It was more centralised at first, and not so intense.’ 

‘Hm. Let me try something.’ He pushed his finger-tips against the area of the pain. ‘Does this hurt?’ 

‘Yes, clearly,’ Spock said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. McCoy removed his hand. Spock bit back a scream. When Kirk looked at the doctor in alarm, he was surprised to see him smiling. 

‘Bones, what the hell is going on?’

‘Now that is strange,’ he said to himself. ‘If it is what I think it is… well, that would be something.’ He peeled off his gloves and turned away from his patient. ‘Nurse, could you bring up Commander Spock’s medical files? I need the full-body scan we did two months ago.’ 

The nurse called it up on the nearest computer. McCoy studied the scans. After some time, he leaned close to the screen and screwed up his eyes. 

‘Now how did I miss that?’ he muttered. He closed down the files. ‘Nurse, get me one of those new fancy scanners, would you? I want to have a closer look at this.’ His mood had changed notably for the better. Still, it made Kirk uneasy to not have him talk to them. 

‘What is it you’re suspecting, Bones?’ 

McCoy took the scanner the nurse handed him and concentrated it on Spock’s stomach. 

‘Yup,’ he said to himself. ‘There it is.’ He looked up and grinned. ‘Mister Spock,’ he said, ‘you have appendicitis.’ 

Spock struggled to sit up. 

‘That is impossible,’ he said. ‘Vulcans do not _have_ an appendix.’ 

‘But _you_ do,’ McCoy said. ‘It’s fantastic what you can miss when you don’t expect it to be there. It’s very small, smaller than most humans’. Or at least, it was. Now it’s quite inflamed.’ 

‘Will you be able to remove it?’ Kirk said, reluctant to let go of the worry, in case it turned out to be bad after all. 

‘Oh sure. He’ll be fine.’ He turned to Spock. ‘I’ll give you something for the pain, then we’ll operate later today. Come the afternoon, you’ll be back to your old, Vulcan self, sans appendix and all. You’re need some time to recover, of course. Might want to keep you here until tomorrow. Then you should be able to rest in your quarters. It’ll be a few days until you can work. For now, though, just lie down and take it easy.’

Spock sank back onto the biobed, a vague look of defeat on his face, though he relaxed a little when McCoy administered the painkiller. The doctor moved aside, patting Kirk on the shoulder in passing. Kirk stepped closer to the bed. He leaned down and kissed Spock on the brow. 

‘You had me worried there for a while,’ he said. He stroked his hair. ‘How are you feeling?’ 

‘The pain is less acute.’ 

‘I didn’t mean physically,’ Kirk said softly. Spock sighed. 

‘Illogical as it is, I feel some degree of embarrassment,’ he admitted. ‘Like I have… What is the term? Made a fuss for no reason. At the same time, I am relieved.’ 

‘You didn’t make a fuss,’ Kirk said. ‘You’re ill.’ 

‘With a condition I should not have,’ Spock added.

Kirk smiled. 

‘I’m just glad it isn’t anything worse,’ he said. ‘It’s lucky, I suppose, that Bones realised it so fast.’ 

‘Indeed,’ Spock said. ‘A less versatile physician would have rejected that possibility outright. It would be a humiliating death, dying because of a vestigial organ I should not even have.’ 

‘You won’t be dying,’ Kirk said. 

‘True,’ Spock said. ‘It is absurd to think that after all the medical attention I have received over the years, the fact that I have an appendix has always been overlooked. In that respect, I have always assumed that I am completely Vulcan.’

Kirk grinned. 

‘Well,’ he said, ‘nobody’s perfect.’


End file.
